Wasteland Odyssey: Genesis
by Forgotten Son
Summary: AU. The world is a dangerous place, from the West Coast to the East Coast, living is an everyday struggle and survival is not guaranteed. The year is 2268, and a young Khan is about to be thrown into the breadth of this strange new world. War is on the horizon and Change in the wind. His Odyssey will see him across the Wasteland. (FO3 FO:NV FO4)(OC's)
1. Intro

**Intro/Summary**

Slightly AU

High above, a raven glided alone over the barren expanse of the desert. As far as the eye could see to the East of the Colorado River, the Rocky Mountains spread across the desolate terrain. To the west on a small patch of Arizona that pressed into old Nevada and far below the soaring bird, what used to be the suburbs and simple structures of Bullhead City is where a new legend begins, with its webbed streets snuggled into the bend of the Colorado like a spider's abode in a door frame. They would've been something back in the day, a town devoted only to small little housings and apartment buildings, though two-hundred years of nuclear fallout had taken its toll. Despite being spared the direct brunt of the climax of the Great War, not even the relatively untouched Mojave could withstand the rigors of time. So while buildings and structures stood as giants; concrete, and metal. The nice aesthetics of civilization withered away. Paint chipped and dried, buildings lost their color in two centuries of rusting and bleaching. Telephone poles and street signs, billboards and traffic lights, cars scattered in a jumbled mess, a perfect pattern of disarray within the city limits. It was a pattern only entertained by chance. The infinite possibility that lay hidden in Life. Though not all things in Life, however, are left to its own devices.

The raven tucked its wings, diving straight for the city, for a crow. The raven flared its wings, reducing its speed and startling her target with tiny talons daring. The unaware crow squawked in sudden surprise, and she took the opportunity to snatch the plump rodent from the feet of her quarry.

For all the things that had changed after the Great War, one thing remained the same; Man's behavior and their capacity for war. The abuses for power and eagerness to manipulate those 'beneath' their station. Who felt the ends always justified the means.

When the vaults opened their steel-ton doors, some sought to make the new landscape their home, despite the bittersweetness of their survival. Building settlements, farming crops and caring for livestock. Honest living. People who wished to bring humanity back from the brink and hold firm those old-world philosophies. Good, decent, hard-working folk. Though, there would always be others perfectly willing to take it all at gunpoint.

They were the scourge that would plague the Wasteland from the West coast to the East coast like cancer. They had many names among their kind, but the one to stick was Raiders. Many gangs would rise and fall, but only the toughest would be remembered in this dark new era of human history. The crazy, cowardly Vipers and the tactically stealthy Jackals were but just a few, enough to raise the hairs upon one's neck at the thought of crossing their paths.

But what of the Great Khans?

It is the last that will leave its mark. A nomadic raider tribe, whose hierarchy functioned much like the old motorcycle-clubs from before the Great War. Little is known of the workings of mice and men and the plans laid before one's feet. Other legends like the Vault Dweller of Vault 13, his grandchild, and legends yet to be. . . their actions of bravery often go unnoticed, their great deeds passing only by word of mouth to expand their fame, but their effects felt in the regions they roam. The Great Khans have been credited with many bloody notches on the flow of time, but will they also be credited for the origins in creating their very own legends? _The Witness_ , to help orchestrate the violent course of change.

Because war- war never changes. A hard lesson, to those who survive. Hard times breed strong men, and strong men bring better times. Will this _Witness_ learn from history, his experiences. . . or is history doomed to repeat once more?

Author's Notes:

This Story will be Epic in length and will span an Origin Story, leading into Fallouts III, New Vegas, and IV. Whether it's broken into separate parts or all in one story is yet to be determined. I hope you all enjoy the read and review, it's going to be a long one.

That being said, this Intro was to cut away a section of the first chapter that wasn't needed, and I hope it works as a decent summary as well. All Three following chapters are under revision, new chapters following soon after. Tags will be listed below for those interested in quick details. (3/1/2020)

-(FO: 3 | FO: NV | FO: 4)

-(Original Characters)

-(Lore *Friendly* as much as possible)

-(Adventure, Drama, Suspense, Romance, Angst, Crime, Tragedy, Friendship)


	2. Chapter One: The Prophecy

**Chapter One: The Prophecy**

 **(June 5th, 2268)**

 **(2:31 pm)**

On the bend of the Colorado River, Bullhead City's entirety was a sprawling suburban development with the occasional multistory building here or there. Within the bend of the river itself though, a sizable sand barge crested above the water. Spires of smoke drifted high into the clear blue, carried by a breeze that made the heat more comfortable. Tents formed streets along this mini island, and even more on the bank to its eastern side. These tents, or Gers, as their occupants called them were the homes of the Great Khans. Things had changed since the days of the New Khans.

Descending down the billowing pillars to its smoldering origins, fire pits were set up in order to spit roast the rewards of their daily hunts. Today's meal, an assortment of Gecko and chunks of Bighorner sat skewered, sizzling over the open flames that licked the flesh and charred with every lash. They sat - like all the others pits - unattended. In fact, it appeared as if not a single person was around.

Suddenly, from the east side of the Barge rode two men on horseback, adorned head-to-toe in stitched clothes and tanned studded leathers, Great Khans logo proudly emblazoned on the backs of their vests while helmets masked their identities. The men crossed the waist-high water easily on horseback and onto the sandy island, horses breaking for the center of the encampment.

The largest tent of the camp was soon in sight though hindered by tribals, it easily could fit the small crowd to sleep inside, but they only blocked their entrance. As the two men approached, the horses reared back as if a little disturbed, both catching a hint of something foul. Unnatural. It went ignored as they swiftly disembarked their horses, height was one of the only things you could discern from the men as they strode over to the tent; One stood half a head higher, though that wasn't unusual for him, being among the tallest in all of Bull Head.

The tallest spotted a raven flying overhead, prey caught within its talons and then lost sight of it as he and the shorter one waded through the others. A guard stood outside the entrance, "Sorry Naddok, by the time news broke, they came rushing." The man was ignored, and the shorter man cast open the flap to gain entry. Inside, more clansmen stood crowded and the two men pushed their way to the center. Through the mass, some of the tribewives were crouched and tending to an aged man, an Elder of the Khans. With pale sickly skin, his breath came in short heavy inhales, grayed beard hung in long scraggly knots with cloudy green eyes - unseeing to the outside world - darting this way and that.

This elder . . . had . . . a power, something none of them could explain. He called it 'Glimpsing', glimpses he could see into the past, the present, or even the future. Despite being met with skepticism, no one dared insult the Elder.  
Removing their helmets, the men bent down to kneel before the Elder, their facial features close in resemblance, the shorter of the two men - Naddok - had dark cropped hair and light brown eyes, tanned skin from many hours out in the Mojave sun and clean-shave skin stretched over a strong angular jaw. The taller brother - Fergus - differed not only in that he was younger, but also that his features were slightly softer in the cheeks and jaw, not as gaunt and narrow, his hair was lighter with evidence it was starting to recede in the front from his widow's peak, scruff covered his entire jaw and bits of his neck coppery.

"Elder," Naddok started, taking the blind man's frail hand in his own, gently as to not cause further discomfort. They had arrived as fast as their horses could carry them after a runner had found them at their main village.

Fergus was quick to dismiss everyone except for the tribewives, who looked after the Elder. Visions from the Elder were rare, and often vague, sometimes not even having to deal with them, detailing events that were to come. The only problem was the timeline. . . or who was even involved. He wondered what it would be this time, often he had his doubts, but they were never enough to convince him he shouldn't heed the Elder's counsel.

"Naddok," he managed with a strained, raspy voice, "I-I see. . . A great two-headed Bear, its form dwarfing the tallest of the Rockies, claws sinking into all it can reach. One head, cast low, fixed upon its conquests with snarling teeth and the other hungry for the horizon. . . Far below, a young boy stands witness to the destruction beside me. . . and in his eyes, I can see his course...," he inhaled deeply, suddenly with eyes wide, startling some of the maidens listening too closely. "T-this boy. . . He will depart all he knows, driven by an outside force. His journey will. . . will be a long one, and he shall know no home for many a year, he will know m-many an ambition. . . with plenty of failure in between. A hard life." As he continued, his breathing became more labored, showing the mental drain on the old-timer, yet he pushed on, "He will attain skills that put him above his peers, find loyal comrades, and suffer many hard lessons. His journey will g-grant him wisdoms known only to a lucky few."

Coughing hard, the man freed his hand from Naddok to cup his open maw, interrupting his vision. Once he removed his hand, glistening the palm was the crimson of his blood. The images that flashed through his mind's eye blurred as he lost some focus; the images were too fast to make out everything, he could only understand bits and pieces.  
"Elder, you should rest," Fergus advised. The Elder grew weaker every new moon, and these visions were of no help.

"No Fergus, not yet I'm afraid," the Elder paused to collect himself, one of the women cleaned his palm with a scrap rag, but as he continued it was clear the strain was beginning to take its toll. "And upon his return, a warrior. . . grew before my eyes, through his trials and tests. . . h-he will come to determine the fate of the Khan peoples across the Mojave. The Bear above retreats, stung by a Bull from the eastern lands. The Bull sizes up - seeking to gore the Bear - its hoof hovering high, shadowing us within its looming presence. . . The Bull lunges and the hoof descends, the Warrior's eyes shine ready. . . he is ready."

The Elder coughed hard again and fell into unconsciousness, the tribe-wives all fell into a fit of panic, but Naddok's gaze remained glued to the Elder, his face pensive. . . This couldn't be true, one of their own, a boy no less. Even then, _who_ was this child he spoke of? Some of the man's visions had come true, in a sense. And sometimes, he spoke of things happening in places he'd never heard of, doing no more good than an incredible work of fiction for the children, and fueling his brother's paranoia. Never before had a vision been so clear, so evidently about them.

Naddok's attention was stolen when Fergus set a hand to rest on his shoulder. Sighing, he let his frustrations known, "What do you make of this Fergus?" he asked, standing to his full height. His brother was always one of the first to express his doubts, though always in private.

"Honestly?" he asked with a small smile and his hand dropped back to his side. Naddok rolled his eyes and Fergus spoke his mind while leading them both out of the tent, "Honestly, everything he's said goes against everything I know. This whole. . . "Glimpsing" thing he calls it. It's always been beyond me." Fergus stopped just outside the tent, sure his brother would like to keep this between them and the tribewives for now. . . he'd have to go back in and make sure the ladies understood that.

"And that's how I feel-"

"But," Fergus put his hand up to halt his brother, "when it's concerned the tribe, he hasn't been far off. Minor detail or two, and I know that you've realized that yourself. His visions lead us here and have kept us from costly battles. Even I cannot ignore that."

Naddok palmed his face, then started to lumber into the camp, now full of life compared to the deserted encampment they had arrived too. Hunting parties were assembling and packing. Others were back to attending to menial tasks and chores assigned earlier in the week. He watched as the youngest ones were back at play 'Mole Rat' or hide-and-seek. Too young to pull their own weight yet, the idea was to let them enjoy what childhood they could. But when not at play, they were expected to contribute to the well-being of the tribe by helping the tribewives, whatever tasks or chores that entailed.

The adolescent ones fought amongst themselves in mock bouts of 'Super mutant' which was basically King of the Hill. Some days it was Capture the Flag, among other games. Every game involved combat. Being adolescent, or at least ten years old, you were old enough to pull triggers; on animals and in desperate times on enemies, until the day of receiving their patch after the rite. Until then, they would assist the hunters and gatherers when requested, gaining experience in the meantime.

It wasn't long before he noticed his son wasn't among any of them, he hadn't been at the Glade either. He wasn't following that boy again, was he?

Naddok shook his head, things were back to normal, as it should be. "I guess I'm just afraid of what it could all mean, for us, our kinsmen in the north. Things are tough enough with the NCR, they're expanding."

"The NCR will grow bolder every year, yet so does Papa Khan. It can't be helped," Fergus commented, well aware of the growing bouts between his people and the growing nation-state. It'd been that way for years. All his life in-fact. "And I haven't heard you call them 'kinsmen' in a long while."

Naddok sent a short glance to his brother, but continued, "But how long before the NCR turns its attention on Bullhead? If Papa Khan wants to keep raiding the NCR, it'll bring war to us all. Any word on his runner?"

"Only that he should be expected within the next few days. It could be as soon as tomorrow or next week."

"Damn it, Fergus, I'm afraid this war won't be good for us." He confessed, no issue in confiding in his younger brother. The 'Great Bear' could only be one thing, and that was the NCR, the damned thing was printed on all their flags. As for the Bull, that was a new one and he didn't have a clue where to start other than that it would arrive from the east perhaps. All that aside, change was supposedly coming, and it looked as though it may be the bloody kind. Even with these thoughts racking his brain, their feet carried them further from the main ger, his eyes searching for Bren, his son, but the teenage boy was nowhere to be seen, not even his immediate friends. Eventually coming to a stop, he asked, "Say, Fergus, you haven't seen Bren have you?"

Fergus had made it a few more paces before stopping to glance around as well. He sighed, turning up to the croak of a raven as it flew eastward, prey still in its grasp. "Well. . ." he started, looking back at his brother, "I'll give you three guesses."

 **(Elsewhere)**

Roaming in the rubble cluttered streets, a following of Gecko broke from their main throng; medium-sized dark scaled creatures with their prized indigo hides' shining in the afternoon sun, unaware of the predatory gaze scoping out their small congregation from a perch atop the roof of a faded red suburban home one hundred yards down the street. Protruding from the center of the roof was the brick chimney, a pair of pipes sitting at the top, a hungry raven dropping to land onto it. Its beak dug in through the guts and yanked the innards of the rodent, guzzling it down happily. Seemingly poking from the crook where brick met shingle, a small bundle of old brown burlap peeked, torn in strips and frayed at the edges that floated in the soft wind. A blind.

Only a small gap served to provide a clear view of the length of the broken road, leaving the heap of cloth as inconspicuous as possible. No human shape to draw any unwanted attention, a trick he'd learned from Ferguson. The burlap shifted, the sun catching a flash from the lens of the half pair of binoculars. More of a spy-glass, now, but it worked.

A small hand emerged slowly from under the brown wrap to pull it down, revealing the head of a boy with a mop of brown hair, not startling the dark bird. With one squinted eye on the bird, he left it be and continued to survey his quarry through the magnification device. The reptiles were lazing about, most were sunbathing, a few curious others investigating their surroundings. Looking for a juicy radroach, no doubt. One glanced up in his direction, but he knew so long as he remained slow in his motions, he'd be practically invisible from this distance.

The gecko's head twitched in jerky motions, tilting left and right, swiveling side to side in its constant search of food, tongue flicking out to wipe over its right orange-tinted eye.

Its head suddenly perked to its left, frills flaring to attention, its snout pointing into the hole of a collapsed wall of one of the houses lining the street. A couple of rusted cop cars and a toppled delivery truck were lined up in a perimeter around the gap. The noise grew louder, gaining the interest of the other geckos present, two more running over to join their kin.

The boy pulled away from the monocular, his stormy gray eyes gleaming with interest of his own. Even from here, he could hear the clattering echoes emanating from within the break in the wall. _'_ I wonder what that is,' he thought, returning to peek through the device.

Skittering out from the dark wound into the light of day came a Golden gecko, half a foot taller than the rest, and its hide color giving its namesake. Frills flared in warning, territorial of its abode.

This was interesting, he was told golden geckos needed a regular intake of toxic or radioactive material to become so, the color of their hide the by-product of such a diet, which made it sought after by tradesmen and leather workers. The hide was more resilient and as such, a more valuable trade or bargaining item than their common indigo cousins.

They were normally peaceful creatures, though he knew Golden Geckos to be a little more aggressive, but the whole group would turn hostile once provoked. It would be nice if he could snag that gecko. It would get the others off his back for a while, and at least he'd be able to eat well for a few days. Also, if there was one, then maybe there were more? He could tell Fergus, and then maybe. . .

'No,' the boy shook his head, setting the monocular down. 'I'm getting ahead of myself, no use in stringing myself along.'

Something knocked down some of the old metal trash cans in the backyard of the house he was nested on followed by harsh whispers, startling him with how close the noise had occurred and with how far it carried. The raven above took flight leaving behind the remains of its meal. Eyes widening, he ignored the distraction to turn back to the herd of geckos, but by the time his eyes were back on their position, they had all scurried back to the main herd.

Disappointment washed through his veins, a feeling he was accustomed too. Attaching the half-binocular to the strap across his chest, his eyes narrowed, cutting back to the edge of the roof as he yanked the burlap down like a scarf. Picking himself up into a crouch and stepping closer to the edge, he peered over down into the backyard. His nerves lessened, but only slightly so upon sighting his clansmen, four in fact; he stood to his full height of 5' 4''. He had on a dirty sleeveless army field jacket that hung lower than he liked, and underneath a black sun-faded flannel shirt, his drab green cargo pants, and brown hiker boots were a nice compliment to the outfit. Over his shoulder, a one-strap backpack, three extra pockets fastened onto the strap.

His eyes scanned the arrivals and he recognized each, finally landing on the one that many of the older members called a 'true heir' to Naddok, a boy named Bren. The thing about him though wasn't just the similarities he shared with his father but to himself. It was enough to draw his ire sometimes, or just annoy him on more sedate days.

Bren stood two inches taller than him and was fifteen years old, his status as Naddok's son ensured he was always well fed and was benefited with broad shoulders, built strong, dressed in dark leather Khan vest and chaps with metal plates covering his thighs and arms as armor. He kept his darker brown hair shaved close to the skull with a two-inch mohawk running the length, a hairstyle favored by three of the four Khans. There was one other deviation though, one he was proud of. While his gray eyes were on Bren, that boy's own brown leered back at him.

Jessup and McMurphy were the other two who shared similar haircuts, a caucasian boy of fourteen and the other a darker-skinned boy of fifteen. Both dressed in similar Khan garments, it was a trait shared by everyone present. Jessup was directly below him with an embarrassed smile stretched across his face as he shrugged back at McMurphy. So, Jessup had been the one that knocked down the ladder and frightened away the geckos. McMurphy was only a few paces behind and had a grin of his own, enjoying himself at Jessup's expense.

The last teen was the tallest among them, Chance, and the only one smiling up at him. The eldest at sixteen years old with long blonde hair that reached the middle of his shoulders and blue eyes, his features were heavily 'nordic'; His size and brawny frame meant he was also the strongest out of all of them. Built like a Bighorn, the boy had been described as a Viking from hundreds of years before the Great War, like the pictures from some books Fergus had shown him. He was bare-chested under the dark gecko hide vest he wore; most of the time choosing to go without a shirt due to the scorching heat. Other than that, he wore simple jean shorts, held up by a belt with a sheathed combat knife and brown boots.

Eyes darting back to Bren, and his ire rising, he asked, "Can I help you?" Bren was something of a leader to this merry band of khans, his little gang. So, he pretty much spoke for the rest of them.

Bren crossed his arms over his chest, a small sneer marring his face, "You know, just about everyone hightailed it back to the Barge, right?"

"Yet, here _you_ are. . . ," he said, not giving Bren a straight-up answer. Unless the camp was under attack, it wasn't much of his business. The youngest turned to Chance, "How's it goin' Chance?"

"Good, little man. Thought we'd all go for a hunt. Then, we heard that the Elder was having another vision, it's why everybody took off." The tall blonde responded, then pointed through the building, "Seeing anything interesting?"

"Oh come the fuck on! Why are we sitting here, we don't need him." Jessup cut in. They'd spent an hour going out of their way from _their_ hunting grounds. They were getting closer to the city center. Which meant more wildlife sure, but Bullhead had other creatures that roamed the city interior; Nightstalker and Mongrel packs, Radscorpions, and Ferals to name a few.

Not to mention raider gangs that managed to get by in the middle. And while they weren't likely to be encountered with such a high Khan presence, it wasn't impossible. Most raiders wouldn't think twice about wasting a fledgling group of khans for whatever they owned. Children be damned.

"Come on, you know what we're really doing."

"Chance," Bren interrupted, his voice a low monotone.

"What's the deal? You already agreed, enough already," Chance countered, "One day, he _will_ be riding on a raid with us."

"Personally," McMurphy interjected, "I've got no problem. Chance ain't wrong. Let _Petty_ tag along," he conceded, a little venom lacing the word.

The boy atop the roof cringed, he _hated_ that name. It was the name his father gave him, more of an everlasting insult than a name. His father found it in a dictionary one day, and for whatever reason, the word stuck with him. He'd found it, too.

Petty: Small and insignificant. Naddok must've felt it was a perfect fit.

He preferred the name Nick, though unfortunately for him, not many recognized it as such. Fergus was one of the rare exceptions and he didn't use it often. Still, he couldn't stop the spiteful surge from coursing through him, venting in the one way he knew how, "Fuck you Mac! I don't need whatever crap your pushing. I've got my own score."

McMurphy's smile twisted, and Nick knew the prick was pleased with the predictable rise he got just from a name drop.

Bren scoffed, drawing everyone's attention back to him, "I highly doubt that."

Nick ground his teeth as he tried to reel in his growing anger, this was standard fare shit, and he got dragged in each time. Not this time, "Fuck if I care, I got a Golden Gecko with a .243 round to its name." Walking back to the chimney, Nick grabbed the scoped rifle he had nestled against its rough surface. Moving back to the edge, Nick carefully made the ten-foot drop, hanging from the ledge and landing next to Jessup. He was a rather athletic child for eleven years old, he probably could've gotten up there without the ladder.

'Probably would've kept them from finding me too', he thought.

"Bullshit," Jessup said, not convinced, staring down his nose at the shorter boy. "Where would they get the rads for that?"

"I don't need you to believe me, and I don't care if you don't," he replied evenly. Turning his back to the group, Nick made his way to the front of the house, throwing his hand up to wave bye to Chance before disappearing around the corner.

The soft footfalls of four sets of feet sounding behind him let him know he wouldn't be going alone, "Might as well see if he's bullshittin' or not," he heard McMurphy say, the comment barely drifting to his ears, making him smile. 'Just wait,' he thought in return.

In the front yard, Nick pulled his pack off to dig inside and pulled a journal out and a pen, flipping it open. The first page, a hand-drawn map of their section of Bullhead. They were on the corner of Rio Grande Road and Way, the golden gecko was further down Rio Grande Way. He could still see the destroyed wall, though without his device, the distance looked much greater down on the ground.

A hundred yards in the wasteland might as well be a mile.

Turning back to the group, "Well if you're all serious," he started to gather their attention before they went for with their horses, he pointed to the building down the street. "That's where I saw the lizard. Just don't screw this up on me again." Looking at his map, he determined the throng had thinned out, the majority having left down Del Norte, stragglers bringing up the rear at the opening of the street. They'd circle around again in a month or so, a large almost migratory route that took them down Harbor Drive and past Clear Water Drive, beyond what he's explored.

Bren and the other's had gathered back with their horses, distracted with their bags, Nick moved to the garage door just as he heard Bren ask, "So where's your horse, didn't get it killed did you?"

McMurphy and Jessup's chuckles followed. Instead of rising to the jab, the youngest bent down to slip his fingers underneath the large sliding door. He was sure the rattling of the door raising up on its tracks drew their attention. Inside, his horse neighed, blowing air through its lips in surprise, steadily stepping to its side. Stepping gingerly into the carport, Nick raised his hands high to comfortingly rest on the horse's muzzle. "There, there boy."

Horses were the most common method of travel for Khans; dependable, rugged, and capable of traversing large distances, horses were definitely worth twice their weight in caps. They were a khan's most valuable possession, native only to Bullhead.

His horse was Alban, with a black body and white splotches, a black mane and a white blaze down his face.

Spinning on his heel with a smart-ass grin, "Alban is doing fine," Bren leered at him, backpack in one hand and a 12-gauge shotgun in the other. Jessup was reloading his revolver, a .38 caliber with his own bag resting at his feet. McMurphy didn't seem to care, adjusting his own pack over his shoulder, a black pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants.

Chance only shook his head, blonde locks softly waving with him, an aluminum bat resting over his shoulder; he knew well enough this would continue, regardless of how much he tried to stop it. He decided long ago the best he could do was keep things from going overboard. Otherwise, he wasn't doing jack. Reaching into the dirty blue satchel hanging off him, he found the wrap of dog jerky he'd brought and dug in.

"Bring your horses in here, safer that way."

They didn't argue, and the horses were shut within the safety of the garage. Actually, the trek over to the wall was permeated in silence while they crept close, not that it bothered anybody. This was a hunt after all, but Nick took comfort in the quiet. Finally grouped around the entrance, they peered into where the sun managed to light up the first few feet.

"In here," Jessup asked incredulously, no longer as enthusiastic as moments before, " Bullshit, there's no way a _Golden_ gecko lives here."

Nick cocked his head towards Jessup in minor disdain, pulling ahead of his companions to enter the two-hundred-year-old dwelling. He ignored Chance's uttering for him to use caution, he didn't walk a hundred yards just for Jessup to get skittish.

The closer he got the more intense the musky scent wafting from within got. Well, it definitely smelt like a Gecko's lair. So with his rifle shouldered and at the ready, he took the lead.

Inside, his eyes began to adjust to the low light, allowing him to make out the furniture in the living room he stepped in. The chairs were chewed up and the couch which was turned over was as well, something had been teething on these for a few years. Behind the couch, sitting against the wall was a skeleton dressed in ragged scraps, about chest level above the corpse, the appearance of buckshot and faded blood spatter stained the wall. A coffee table was cracked in two, with table clutter and old magazines filling the break. The floor creaked softly with every step and to his left was the rest of the living room and to his right, an open walkway into the kitchen. A dining table leaned against a kitchen counter that was littered with empty food cans, chairs scattered across the open room, and slumped against that table was another grungy skeleton, bullet holes left behind in the wooden table, more old blood staining the tile floor. It was here he made a discovery. Not only had the wall collapsed, but the kitchen floor had sunk into the earth, leaving a ramp down, and conveniently, a metal door knocked off its hinges to reveal a dark narrow tunnel.

"Great. . . dark, spooky, tight spaces," Nick drew sarcastically, letting his arms droop a little from his firing stance. "Fantastic." He didn't have a flashlight, and as much as he didn't want too, it looked like this time he was going to have to rely on one of the others.

The sudden illumination of the space around him got him to turn up, arm rising to shield his eyes from the cringing blindness.

Bren descended the sloped floor, pointing the beam into Nick's face as he passed. He was followed by Jessup and McMurphy, then Chance who gestured for Nick to get moving.  
Bren shined the light on the hinges, "This door had been blown off." Nick could only agree, the door looked just as mangled. "So," Bren started, he passed the light to Jessup in favor of his pump shotgun, "What's the odds this turns out a bullshit run?"

"Lower odds than one of you fucks saying 'bullshit' again," Nick growled lowly from near back of the group, he lurched forward when Chance gave him a shove, "Not you man, you're at least halfway decent! God damn."

The tunnel continued for about thirty feet, Jessup shining the light on a few more skeletons lining the way, some in body armor. Finally, the tunnel opened into one large room, and as the beam flashed from one spot to another, the various contents came into sight; the beam roamed over more skeletons and ammo boxes scattered across the floor while some ruined tables were tossed onto their sides as makeshift barricades. Bullet holes by the dozens dotted the cement walls and splintered tables. "Hey, shine the light on that wall," Bren said, and as Jessup did, everyone saw the crates lined up against it with more tables with components, more ammo boxes and tools, there was even a desk with an active terminal.

And towards the back, yet another wall had collapsed leading into an underground cavern shrouded in darkness.

The major sticking point, however, was that these bodies still had their armaments.

"Holy shit," and the ammo boxes, as Jessup and McMurphy were quick to dive into, did in fact contain more ammunition. "Fuck man, look at all this shit!"

Bren pulled out a spare flashlight, and he, Nick and Chance started piling up the assorted weapons on the floor; four MP5's, a MAC-10, and two AK-47 rifles. It was an impressive haul. As Bren and Chance turned to search around the tables, Nick decided to busy himself with the powered terminal.

Tapping a random key spurred the machine into action, lines of code running down and across the black screen before disappearing beyond the bottom. Setting his rifle against the desk, he took a seat in the green plastic chair to make himself more comfortable.

 **[Robco Systems]**

 **[Welcome, Mr. Constance]**

'Huh,' the computer wasn't password protected. Guess somebody thought it'd never be found. 'What do we have here, Mister Constance.' Pressing the enter key queued up the archives, though honestly, it wasn't much. Generator commands, a bunch of deleted entries, all except for the last three.

Before Nick could delve into the only available entries, the sound of wood breaking brought him back into the room. Turning, Chance was using a crowbar he'd found to wrench open one of the stacked crates, Bren standing by to provide light. With a forceful thrust, he successfully peeled back the lid and the plank of wood clattered loudly as it hit cement.

"Wow," Chance and Bren said together, a little loss for words. That coming from them was enough to pull everyone to their side.

More AK-47's, ten rifles in total.

"'Wow' is god damn right," said McMurphy, picking one up to appraise the weapon, turning it over in his hands. After, he passed it to Jessup, who handled it with awe. "There ain't a speck of rust on that fuckin' thing!"

"We hit the fuckin' mother load," Nick commented after, "You think there's more in the others?"

"I'll admit it. Not a bullshit run, fuck that Gecko, with all this-," Bren stopped, craning his neck as if he heard something, ". . . Anybody else hear that?"

"Hear what? Bro, I don't hear nothing-," the _***Click* *Click* *Click***_ that echoed from the cavern made Jessup clamp shut, and everyone turned back to the cavern.

 _ ***Click***_

 _ ***Click* *Click***_

Hissing came soon after! Approaching far too quickly from the cavern, making everyone's hairs stand on end!

"Fuck!" yelled Bren swiveling quick, shotgun ready. When the gecko crested a moment later, golden in color, Bren unloaded a flash of buckshot into its scaly snout killing it on the spot, its body recoiling back down into the darkness in a bloody heap. The blast thundered unbearably, everyone's ears ringing as an effect.

When the sound of dead weight rolled to a halt, not even the ringing could drown out the hissing that began resounding from the dark crevice.

As everyone else drew their weapons, Nick dashed back over to the terminal. Accessing the Generator Commands, he punched in Main Power, only for the screen to flashback in an error code he couldn't even fathom the meaning of, backing out he tried the command to start up the Auxiliary Power.

Another thundering blast, followed by some smaller, but no less unbearable pops from handguns. When the lights above them started flickering to life, Nick grabbed his rifle and scurried back to make his stand among the other four. The room lit up bright, actually causing a brief moment of discomfort. The lights continued into the underground cave, lighting up the three golden geckos rushing to defend their territory.

Taking a knee, Nick scoped in on the gecko in between. As soon as the crosshairs touched the kill zone, he didn't hesitate. Bolt, re-bolt, breathe, he took aim again. This time the furthest, and when the crosshair landed on the creature's cranium, he squeezed the trigger. Two shots in five seconds.

Bren walked a few paces down the ramp, taking his time as he shouldered his shotgun, showing no concern for the advancing lone gecko.

One final blast ended its life. Smoke hung in the air and nobody's ears had stopped ringing yet, and nobody was quite ready to speak either.

Despite all this, Nick was now grinning like a loon. "Hell yeah," this place was a huge find, big enough he didn't care if the others took credit in it, so long as he wasn't forgotten. The gecko hide and meat were bonus points now. Those guns, the ammo, the salvage. . . that stuff was worth a small fortune.

"Ha ha ha, damn!" Jessup yelled, his blood pumping something fierce. That was more than he was expecting out of this trip. Hell, this whole 'underground tunnel to a hidden armory' deal was more than he could've imagined! McMurphy chuckled, patting his friend on the shoulder as they both descended down the slope and started hauling up the fresh carcasses one by one.

"Told you guys! I told you this wasn't no bullshit run," Nick cheered, still ecstatic. McMurphy tossed a hand in the air, calling back half-heartedly, "Yeah, yeah, Kid. You were right, this time."

"A cave, and yet there's another door. How big did they need it. . . I'm going to take a look," said Bren, already making his way down and allowing his friends to pass with the first kill, reloading his shotgun along the way.

"Hey, whoa, I'm going' too," Nick said immediately, only for Chance to grab him by the shoulder to stop him short. "What," he asked while simultaneously being disarmed, Chance slung the rifle over his own shoulder. Pulling out the 9mm he had tucked and then a spare clip, slapping them both into Nick's open palm. "Oh," it was an S&W MP9 Shield.

"Grabbed it off one of the bodies, didn't seem like he needed it anymore," he chuckled, reaching over and ruffling the shorter boy's hair, he pushed off a little to get Nick moving again, "Happy early Twelfth, bud. Now git, he's not waiting. I'll hold onto this for ya," he said, shrugging with his rifle shoulder.

Nick smiled down at the little gift. Granted, he probably would've lifted it sooner or later, it wasn't the gift he was thankful for. Smiling brightly, he sent Chance a mock salute, "Thanks Chance, you're the best!"

Watching Nick run down the ramp and disappear through the doorway to catch up with Bren, Jessup scoffed as he passed Chance, he and McMurphy making their second trip for another body. Chance just ignored him.

As Nick soon found, the door led to another long tunnel, the beaming orb of light ahead showing Bren's progress down the earthen channel. Once he was just a few paces behind, Nick spoke up, "I think this leads to the generator."

"I'd say you're right, the wires along the walls have to connect somewhere," he said, then flashed the beam to the left and right. A fork in the tunnel, one path lit with overhanging ceiling lights, the other a deep, dense, depressing black awaited at the edge of Bren's flashlight, daring anyone curious enough to enter its depths. "Shit. . . well, I can't in good conscience send you down there. That way looks like it leads to the generator. I saw you messing around on that terminal, thought you were going to run out on us." He said, a mocking smile stretching his lips, then turned back, trying to peer into the sea of shadow.

"Auxiliary actually. Main power must be that way, it wouldn't start up." Nick replied, he too, was staring into the black. He knew already Bren wasn't going to leave it alone. They were the same in that regard. He just felt like putting it out there, to get some kind of reaction. Always good to hear someone's intentions.

"I'll go down here, see if I can pop the lights on," he said, shouldering his shotgun, the pump resting against his forearm so that he could hold his flashlight. "If you hear shooting, don't think twice. Make for the exit. But with any luck, it'll just be a chewed up generator." He walked on, until his silhouette in the middle of that field of light vanished around a corner.

Nick looked down at the gun in his hand. He took a deep breath before he walked down the tunnel, taking note of a few bloody handprints along the wall. The tunnel stopped as it led him to a dead-end and one final door. Or, he hoped as much, "Main Power," he read aloud, which didn't make any sense. _'_ The shit,' his hand clutched the doorknob and gently pushed open the door. Inside sat a silent fusion generator with a lone light that blipped next to an open socket. . . Just strides away, the remains of a rotting body of a scavenger lay, his hand outstretched for the fusion core discarded next to him.

Tucking the gun away, the boy dropped to a crouch and looked over the body, old scratches and bite wounds, and he could distinguish one particularly nasty bite on the cadaver's neck which was probably what killed him, he guessed. The body looked to be a few months old.

Its other arm, it had a device on the wrist, like a bracer, but some kind of technology he hadn't seen before. In its clenched fist laying across its chest was one of those small orange rectangular holotapes; Nick plucked the tape from its death grip. Setting it onto the floor beside him, Nick picked up the limp, though rigor, appendage and felt around for a release for the bracelet. Finding the clasp allowed him to easily undo it and get a better look.

On the corner of the device it read 'Pipboy-3000,' and a slot atop was popped open, like the holotape could be inserted. Other than that, the screen remained black. Giving the device a quick flick along the various dials brought it to life, but did little else. He eyed it briefly before planting it onto his forearm and tried to clasp it tightly, only to find his arm wasn't quite big enough to do so. It was annoying, though rather than get frustrated, he picked the holotape up and pressed it in the slot for it to play.

The unmistakable sound of muffled screams and growls, in between the fast and repetitive bangs beating off the metal door came first, the only noise that came in clear was that of labored breathing, when its owner - a man - began to speak; his voice growing weaker with every word uttered, his life clearly waning.

" _Found this place, a fucking treasure trove. Guns, and lots of ammo. Couldn't believe them fucking Khans been sitting on this shit and never even knew!_

 _Guess the joke was on me though, the secondary generator powered up quickly, the main generator was offline, weird that the lights were wired the way they were. Went to check it out, and the door was locked. Pip-boy clicked with radiation, so I knew to be quick._

 _It was easy picking it open, never thought I'd get jumped by fuckin' feral ghouls once inside._

 _They got the jump on me, so I ran for the Main Power, shut myself in. But not before I managed to trip on a fusion core running outta the room._

 _One chomped my neck pretty good, too. It's getting hard just to keep my eyes open, breathing is painful._

 _I'm going to try and wait 'em out, use the core to get power and hopefully get back to the surface._

 _But honestly, I don't think I'm getting out of here. Outta this room._

 _If this is to be my last moments, played on tape. . . and if somebody manages to find this. . . if you ever run into a Frieda. Freida Van Graff, give her this tape._

 _Or at the very least. . . tell her 'J.D. says she can do better.'"_

Nick stood stock still, for the first time today a real sense of fear racing up his spine. His eyes suddenly widened, ' _Bren!'_ he yelled in his head, and as if the universe was in tune, the drum of buckshot blared again in its irregular beat.

The boy grabbed the fusion core, the small battery heavier than it appeared. It slid into its place in the generator, and the rest of the connected power grid fired up as the machine hummed to life. He threw the newly acquired Pipboy into his pack as he raced through the door and down the hall again, listening as Bren continued to touch off the trigger, each one closer. As he rounded the corner at the fork, Bren collided solidly against him, sending them both to the floor in a heap.

Growls and shrieks echoed behind them as Bren glanced back and Nick registered the fear that flashed over his face. Quickly, Bren pushed himself up and with a fist full of jacket, Bren hauled up the younger khan below him too, "GET UP! RUN!" he yelled, not waiting for the boy to follow.

Another shriek, Nick turned to see several ghouls bounding around into view, "Oh shit!" he bolted, running as fast as his legs could stride. Only for one of the ghouls to out leg him, it pounced forward, it's leathery fingers tripping him up at the ankle. Nick just barely caught himself from smashing his face into the ground. Whirling around, he scrambled back on his hands and heels, heart pounding, but the ghoul was faster and practically threw itself on top of him!

Nick leaned back with his heart now in his throat! He planted his heels as best he could in the feral's gut then pushed it off to keep a safe distance. His hands searched for the gun at his waist, grunting as the ghoul tried again, snarling down at him with its arms stretching just out of reach, wishing to dig its fingertips into flesh. Finally slipping the 9mm from his waist, he started squeezing the trigger and the ghoul fell limp in a disfigured, groaning mass.

More ghouls were on their way, another two almost about to overtake him, when a blast sent the feral recoiling back to slump against the wall. Chance lunged forward and clobbered the other across the head with his bat, he back-pedaled and spun on his heel, reaching his sturdy hand down for Nick's hand, yanking him to his feet roughly, and bringing the two face to face, Chance quickly looked him over. Bren, who'd doubled-back just in time, had shown up with the others with weapons at the ready.

Back on his feet, Nick ran down the hall, followed by Chance, Jessup, McMurphy, then Bren who all occasionally fired to keep the ghouls from swarming them. Their mad dash carried them back up the makeshift ramp and into the storeroom. Nick stopped, but the others hadn't stopped there, their goal instead was to get the hell out of the building. Nick fired a few rounds out to cover Bren's retreat until he was up the ramp as well and his gun was empty, and the two continued with the ghouls undeterred.

Through the kitchen and then there was their exit, light shining in like a beacon of deliverance. Breaking through its blinding shell back onto the street, they hit the ground as bursting cracks filled the air. Nick didn't lift his head until the gunfire ended. The pursuing ferals were turned into mince meat, automatic weapons having fired into the gap, exterminating the horde with deadly efficacy.

Some ghouls could be heard gurgling on their blood, but were otherwise no longer a threat. Flipping over onto his back, Nick breathed heavily as his eyes scanned over the pile of massacred ghouls lining the yard from the gap, the threat finally over. From his back, he heard the tell-tale noise of someone dismounting their horse, and looking over his shoulder, he almost wished the ghouls had succeeded. A group of his clansmen, a small party of ten men on horseback, one of whom he saw was Fergus. Chance, Jessup and McMurphy were standing with them, small standing beside such tall creatures.

Naddok was, of course, looking at him with something akin to disappointment, and his stomach sank. He grit his teeth, Nick turned his head away from the older man in defiance favoring the pile of dead ghouls as he got back to his feet like Bren beside him. He told himself this shit was pointless.

As the clan leader walked up to Bren, the other boy started walking over to Fergus.

"So what happened," Naddok began, looking at his son expectantly, "would you like to explain why you were all down there, getting chased by ferals, no less?"

"Yeah, well. . . There's this tunnel. It leads to a room with supplies. Weapons, ammo, some parts and other things." Bren sounded embarrassed, and even bothered, but Nick quickly ignored it, bracing himself for what was to come.

"And you were poking your heads in there to begin with, why?" Bren glanced at Nick's back, but Naddok caught the flicker easily enough. "So, Petty lured you down there."

Bren could see Nick's form come to a still for a passing moment, before finally reaching Ferguson. Nick chose to ignore it too, he'd have to this time. Instead, he turned to address his leader to try and explain himself. "I was hunting a Golden Gecko. They just followed me."

"So you are to blame for risking my _son's_ life?"

Nick flinched, "What? They chose to follow-"

"Enough, did you lead them in there?" Naddok cut him off.

"Well, yeah. But they didn't-"

"I said enough," he said, this time firm in his tone. A tone that warned of consequences to come for his next outburst. "You. Lead them. That is all. How many times have you left to your own desires? How many times have you been told to stay and wait for a hunting party to take you on?"

Nick turned away from the man after that, his head low, fists tightened until his knuckles were drained white, his blood boiling in seething anger. Without even trying, he managed to stumble right back into the same bullshit again. And the worst of it all, was that no matter how angry he got, it could never stamp out the disappointment and sadness that gnawed at his chest.

"Dad, we weren't in any real danger. We're all fine, not a scratch, plus all that gear. It wasn't so bad," Bren tried, in a rare display of sympathy for him to take his side.

Naddok rounded back on his son, eyes narrowed in warning to Bren as well, "I'd advise you to use better judgment in the future. Had we not been here. . ." Not giving his son a chance to respond, he turned to his men and closed the distance to his steed, mounting the horse, he gauged the sun in the clear blue sky. "We'll gather your horses, then ride to camp. We have much to talk about, boy. Higgins, Samuel, Spencer, stay here and get things organized. I'll send more people with a wagon, and be careful."

Just like that it was over. Nick sighed, this day had turned into a shit show, and it started so well, eyes cutting back to Bren in brief jealousy. Fergus leaned down, offering his arm to hoist the young boy up, but had to snap his fingers in front of his face to awaken him from his daze. Fergus had a frown of his own now, though whether that was from sympathy or disappointment, Nick didn't wish to think of it.

Shaking his head back into the present, Nick took the hand and climbed onto the horse to sit behind Fergus. From there, the group continued talking amongst themselves, all except Nick, his face marred by a sad frown. _'It's going to be a long ride,'_ he thought, before another struck him.

"Ah, shit! My rifle!"

 **AN:**  
First Chapter revised and up for consumption: for any who read the original, it may not look like much, but I tried to fix up my grammar and spelling (probably still missed some things) and tried to trim what I thought wasn't really needed. I hope you enjoyed it, and as I've said before, I'd like this story to be an Epic. Sometimes I may go overboard with details and the like, but I feel it adds to the picture I'm trying to paint for you all, though I'll try not to overdo it. **(3/7/2020)**


	3. Chapter Two: State of the Khanate

**Chapter Two: State of the Khanate**

The group rode through Riverside Drive and to Nick's left, houses had been torn asunder for whatever spare building materials they could provide, the process had left plenty of empty lots that had been tilled into crop fields, with tribesmen dutifully attending the rows of corn and razor grain hoping for a good harvest and some Bighorner and Brahmin milled about their pastures in peace. The street was clear of debris and vehicles, all having been stacked along the row of houses to his right; an ugly jumbled mass of foundation, metal and wood that led to a driveway that was blocked with a powered gate. With the driveway entrance as the center point, the 'Wall' was the first line of defense for the camp.

Hiding within these defensive houses, Nick knew khans laid in wait, armed to the teeth. Though it had been months since the last raider attack, the wall in its entirety remained guarded, each house acting as a makeshift bunker and live-in shelter so that they were always manned. It was considered a boring post and he smiled, remembering times he'd heard older boys complain of being assigned it for the week.

A sentry called out, and the gate was revved to life in short order once Naddok was spotted. Following the sound of motorized humming, the heavy metal slab slid and Nick followed as everyone trotted in to ride past a garage just beyond, commissioned into a bunker of its own, with more Khan-guards playing cards as they waited out their shift. Circling around, Nick came face to face with the only 'home' he'd ever known. Dubbed East Camp - or the Barge to most - the backyard fences of all the houses behind the wall had been ripped down to allow for more living space, what little there was. Multiple tents of different sizes, shapes and colors lined this side of the river bank. There were even a few shanty wigwams and longhouses that had been cobbled together on the sand barge ahead.

Most of the tents were used for the surge in new prospects, a result of heavy recruiting over the last decade. Actually, for as long as he could remember, very few of the faces he could recognize from the year before remained, most choosing after their Rite to move to The Glade, or maybe one of the other encampments. It had been that way the year before, and the year before that. Very few chose to live at the Barge. Other than new recruits, children who were born into the clan weren't technically prospects, but were required to pass the Rite as well when they were considered ready, and he was no different.

Now that he thought about it, Nick used to hear rumblings that there were plans for the Homeland that the NCR had taken from them. Far to the North, or West, or maybe it was Northwest? It was a 'homeland' he's never known, and as the years grew, the talks diminished as less and less recruits concerned themselves with it. Little contact remained between here and the northern tribe. For many, it was a call that would never come.

Connecting East Camp to the sand, all of the previous fencing had been fashioned into a decent enough footbridge for anybody not on horseback to cross the river. And since Nick was, Alban trotted through the water easily, not even reaching the horse's stomach, as did everyone else who lived on the sand barge. The smell of savory gecko and brahmin meat cooking on an open flame drifted in the wind to catch his nose, causing his stomach to groan loudly. _'_ I haven't eaten since leaving the camp this morning, I've been out there for a while.' So, riding up to his ger - which was really Fergus' - he was about to dismount when his name was called.

It had been Naddok, supposedly the man wasn't finished with him yet, he thought gnashing his teeth lightly.

He whipped the reins to get Alban moving again, falling behind Naddok and Bren's horses to sidle up beside Fergus; He was relieved to see Chance and the others were routed back as well. They followed through the main encampment and arrived at the main ger, the tent where the Elder lived and occasionally loaned for tribe meetings. Although Nick thought he was a little fruity, he was certainly kind-hearted. The Elder would entertain the younglings with stories, but sometimes the Elder on his weaker days would be shut in, or whenever he was experiencing one of his visions. It was for the latter that Naddok would show up.

The subject was iffy, depending on who you talked too. Nick had been skeptical of those, like most, but he couldn't say he didn't enjoy some of the stories, some of them the old man claimed were to happen in lands across the wastes, and other stories of things that had happened in the past. His favorite stories were the ones involving the Vault Dweller and his son, the Chosen One. His interests didn't earn him many friends for obvious reasons, but he didn't care; his status of bastard had done enough damage there already. Fergus had told him that respect for an enemy wasn't an offense, and he took that to heart.

There was a gathering of children, ranging from his age to Bren and Chance's and some a little older, formed up outside the large tent. A few adults keeping them all organized and under control. Naddok dismounted and spoke to one of them, "These were the children playing beyond the camp. The Elder's _looked_ them over. Should I turn 'em loose, Sir?"

"Send them home, I'm sure they're good to go," Naddok replied, and the man ordered his fellows to begin disbanding the children. Before Naddok turned away, the man drew his attention back.

"Chief, Papa Khan's runner has arrived as well. We've brought him here from the Glade."

"Excellent," he was surprised, but he couldn't argue with the timing, it was about time they got an update, "I'd imagine he's already inside," he asked, thumbing towards the tent. When the man nodded, "Good, dismissed."

'Wonder what that was all about,' Nick thought as he listened in, dismounting with the rest of the group. A runner from up north? Did that mean they were finally being called? It had been so long. . . Before he could think more about it, Naddok then stepped into the tent, followed by Bren and his gang, himself, then Fergus. Inside, Nick's attention was drawn to the runner first, standing in the middle of the ger while flanked by a few other khans with faces he'd never seen before. They all must've come from the northern tribe, he assumed.

The one in the center saluted an arm across his chest, "Papa Khan sends his regards." The runner stepped forward and clasped his hand tightly in Naddok's in respect. "We have much to discuss."

"Of course, though," he said, waving his hand towards the weary Elder, Nick now noticed the exhausted man at the end of the tent and bundled up as if fighting a fever. Two of the tribewives attended to him with great care. "This. . . may be of some concern to Papa Khan. A vision from the Elder," he soon relayed the story to everyone present, and while Nick faintly heard the story, his attention had been stolen by the Elder, his dim eyes half-open. Nick knew the Elder was blind, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the man could see him. . . or maybe he was just staring through him.

A hand fell on his shoulder and it startled the boy back into the present. Glancing back, Fergus was giving him a strange look, then pointed ahead. Naddok was leading the children closer to the Elder and so he did the same. Each step the feeling grew stronger, 'the hell is wrong with me?' Some blind old man was literally psyching him out, what did that say about him? He'd never been unnerved by him before.

Drawing up to the Elder's bedside, the blind man turned his head just barely. His hand reaching out, expectantly, the entire limb trembling with his troubled lungs.

Nobody was quite sure what to do, but Naddok signaled that all was fine. He and Fergus hadn't been present for the screening, and as for the newcomers, they simply gathered around, interested in witnessing what they'd only heard stories of before. Though Nick noticed something in the eyes of the Runner, looking at the Elder, eyes sharp like the edge of a knife.

He turned away when Chance made the first move, kneeling down at the man's side and gently taking his hand in his own.

The Elder smiled, grasping gently in return, "What is your name, Child?"

"Chance," he replied evenly.

"Chance," the man repeated, as if mulling it over. Despite his eyes being dull, they somehow seemed to sadden, "Yes, you are a kind boy, Chance. A peaceful soul, who's fury is well in control and knows his limits. You will grow to be a fine warrior with your temperament, and _never_ doubt your path." He then let go of Chance's hand, "You will walk your path faithfully, until the end among friends." Chance got up as he felt that must've been all there was. He wasn't going to question it, Nick knew the older boy would just let the Elder do his thing. Whatever the Elder was doing, or playing to be, he honestly didn't know; but it sounded average for the most part. Average. It was something he yearned, and he could breathe easy with a life like that. It pleased him Chance would get that, it was something a good Khan deserved.

Bren was next, introducing himself when they locked hands. "Ah, son of the Chief, a strong warrior in the making and raised a fine young man. Learn well, and if you continue to make your way, you would lead the Khans to rule all of the Bullhead territories. To be a terror across the Mojave for your enemies. Don't take that for a certainty, as all things shift as the paths of men cross. Listen to your heart, and it will see you there, and beyond, taking your People to new heights." A smirk crossed Bren's face with the idea, to which Nick quietly sneered. 'Of course, he would.'

Jessup and McMurphy were next to replace him, uttering their names as each took one outstretched palm, "You two, close is your friendship, brothers in bond. Your loyalties may be tested, but you find solace in your closest friends to see you through the entirety of your lives. Don't shake those bonds, for they give us strength in our darkest hours. Many battles, you'll see through together to your final breaths." Theirs' sounded much like Chance's reading, though more bland, he didn't get much time to think on it.

It was his turn now.

The entire time Nick listened he felt himself becoming nauseous, shaking his head to rid himself of the sickly feeling, he took slow steady breaths to calm himself down. God, this man unnerved him to no end today, like he was being chased down by a Cazador that was about to swarm over him.

The Elder was waiting, and when Nick's hand rested in the other's, the Elder gazed at him for what felt like an eternity, "A hard life lies before you child, and whether you live or die will come to depend on your will alone. Enduring is your strength, adaption is your skillset. Your will shall carry you through your days, should you succeed, but you will learn there is more to it all in time. And at the end of your road, your Will prevailing, shall you find the peace you've longed for in your heart. . . What is your name child," he finished with a waning smile.

"My name's Nick sir," he said, his eyes shifting to the side where he knew Naddok to be standing behind him, not caring what the Chief thought of his small rebellion.

The Elder chuckled lightly, though it threw him into a soft coughing fit. When the Elder caught his breath, he 'looked' to Naddok, then back to him, "Defiant this one, his will is like fire, but I know your name boy," The man let go of his hand has well, and shifted to peek once again at Naddok, "I have determined Naddok, I think I know whom the vision depicts." Nick stood up and took a seat next to Chance and the rest.

"Are you sure," Naddok stepped forward, sounding a little more eager than he intended too. When Bren received his screening, Naddok had been listening to every word in interest. It sounded like he'd be the boy from the vision. None of the other children were kept back, and Bren's was the closest fit. But then to hear it out of the Elder, if this whole thing was to be true, then he had some preparations that needed to be made. "Absolutely sure?"

"I'm positive, Naddok," the man reassured, "His path is clear, should he follow his heart."

The eyes of the children quirked in confusion, but Naddok cut in before any questions could be raised. "Alright, everyone's dismissed. Elder, we'll talk about this soon, for now you should rest." Everyone did so, the last being Nick and Fergus, as Naddok faced the northern group once more, "My son and his friends located a weapons cache deeper in the territory. I was going to accompany some of my men with a wagon and load up, care to join us? We can talk along the way."

"A stroke of good fortune, eh? Certainly," the Northern nodded.

If it wasn't for Fergus behind him shoving him from the ger, Nick just might have been able to shout off his opinion on what he thought was bullshit. Though due to Fergus' intervention, he had to bite his tongue in the end. All he could really do was go to his tent and try to cool off, ignoring the worried look of Chance as he passed him in his haste.

Today was an absolute shit show.

Stepping to the side, Fergus allowed his brother and his following to pass under the tent flap. He stood there, watching his brother climb back onto his horse with a heavy frown. With everyone gone, Fergus was about to leave and try to smooth things over with the boy.

"Fergus," the man turned, facing towards the Elder tucked in his bedroll across the tent, the man beckoned him closer. 'What could this be', Fergus thought with trepidation. Stepping closer, the khan spoke, his voice gravely serious, "I must speak to you. . . in confidence," he lifted his hand, flicking it in a soft shooing motion. His aides nodded, not that he could see it, but left at his will.

Fergus could only stare in curiosity, and as he distinguished the concern written all over the Elder's wrinkled face, a sinking feeling made itself known, and he began to wonder if he would come to regret this conversation.

 **(Fergus' Ger, A Couple Hours Later)**

Nick was sitting cross-legged in his tent inspecting the 9mm Chance had given him, currently disassembled and laid out on a drag cloth in front of him. Getting to know how his weapon functioned was a skill and discipline instilled in him by Fergus, and while most children were taught, he himself loved it. He sat near the center of the tent by the fire pit, but it was cold and lifeless. Reserved for those colder Mojave nights. To his right was his sleeping cot, his pack placed at the head of his bedding. His rifle hung by its sling on a notch in one of the wooden ribs of the tent close by. Opposite his cot was Fergus', his own kit and belongings scattered around his adobe. Most nights, Nick slept here on his own, though it looked like Fergus would be here tonight.

Back to the task at hand, it helped calm him down, the process of field stripping and cleaning a gun. It just cleared his mind. He liked the smell of the oil, the act of maintaining a weapon was a feeling he enjoyed, putting it back together in a polished manner. Firearms in general, there was just something about them. How a firearm could put anybody on equal footing.

Men against mutants.

Women against men.

Even a child is no longer defenseless with a gun in their hands. This 9mm had saved his life today, his mind delving back to the ghoul clawing at him, the flashes, the ghoul falling away from him. He never once felt that gun snap in his hands. Thinking of it made a shiver run up his spine, he'd never before been so close to death. It didn't occur to him in that instant, only now that he'd time to reflect.  
Was it better that the other's came? What would have happened had he been alone?

Reassembling the nine, he picked up the cloth to give it one final wipe down. He sighed to himself, dropping his head into his hands. He'd cleaned his rifle as soon as he got back first, not that it needed it. It'd been cleaned the week before and a few rounds through the barrel wasn't enough to warrant a session. More like it was his distraction from his anger.  
Or maybe these other thoughts. . .

Standing up, he needed a new distraction. He walked over to his pack and dropped the pistol down onto the cot. Looking down at his bag he stared at it for a moment before snatching it up and setting it before him as he sat on his cot and checked through his inventory; bags of jerky, water, what little herbal ointment he had. . . he paused, sighting the one thing he grabbed from the tunnel and had yet to really mess with, bulging from another pouch. Nick unfastened the top pocket, easily finding the Pipboy inside and taking it in his hand. It obviously worked, but currently, he had no means of keeping it tight to his forearm. . . unless. . .

Grabbing the burlap from around his discarded jacket, he wrapped the cloth around his left forearm, grabbing the Pipboy after. With a bit of patience, and a few curses, he managed to get the clasp to lock around his wrist, the burlap underneath holding the device snug. Swinging his arm to test his work, he looked it over again, quite satisfied. But it wasn't really comfortable and that wouldn't do. The burlap would get his arm sweaty, and the material was rough, and would probably irritate him before long. It also looked a little bulky on him, but he figured after a few years maybe he'd grow into it. If he didn't trade it sooner.

He flipped his way through the menus, eventually finding the holotape he found on the dead scavenger, still inserted within the personal computer. Selecting the place holder in the menu, it brought up all the saved data within. It looked like the man had downloaded some of the entries from the terminal. His own entries were included, the last entry was many years ago, long before the Khans. It was dated for 2078.

Looking at the entries from the terminal, it belonged to Mr. Constance, one of a few Chinese operatives meant to lead strikes with their families during the Great War. He was suspecting the authorities were on to him and was soon proven correct went the police raided his house and while the men made their stand, the families locked themselves in with the Auxiliary power, a mini nuclear reactor which explained how the geckos and ghouls came to be. He was about to wipe the tape when a file caught his eye.

"What do you have there," Fergus said, startling Nick who hadn't noticed him enter, the man pointed at the attachment around his arm, "You find that in the tunnel?"

Nick stood up and began scratching the back of his neck nervously, "Yeah, I picked it up before we got chased out."

"That slide action too," he commented, eyes roving over to where he saw it lying on the cot, "don't think I didn't see it." He could still see a bit of the tension the boy suppressed. The disregard for his claim in the discovery today wouldn't be forgotten, another addition to the list of betrayals that marked his short life. And some were partly his fault. Instead, he'd guide the boy to familiar ground. Neutral topics.

Nick smiled at the mention of the small pistol, "Chance gave that to me, early present, he'd said." Nick picked up the gun, handing it off to Fergus when he came to a stop in front of his cot. "It's sturdy, compact. I don't like that there's no safety on it, though the trigger has a heavy pull. He gave me two eight-round mags."

Fergus looked down the sights with one-hand, the handle small and sleek, but still comfortable in his large grip. Fully loaded the gun held no sway, light as a feather. It would be a good fit for the boy, Fergus knew. He'd have to thank Chance at some point as well. "I like it; fits well in the hand and it's solid, as you said. Good fit for you. I'd keep both of those if I were you." The boy was handed back his weapon, and as the child looked at it, Fergus could hear the boy sigh, "Listen, about today," he tried, placing his hand on Nick's shoulder, an attempt to be comforting. He didn't have children of his own, so this wasn't something he'd ever done.

Actually, _his_ father wasn't exactly that way either. It seemed to run in the family.

Nick chose that moment to turn from Fergus in order to replace his pistol, "There's nothing really to talk about." It was also his way of avoiding the conversation, he'd had this monologue with himself far too many times, and the sooner he could convince himself of his own words the better. He'd told himself nothing was going to change, so he should just stop giving a shit too. Nick was going to end this topic here, dropping down fully onto his cot, "It's over and done with. . . complaining about it now would be pointless. So please, don't."

Hands setting on his hips, Fergus could only shake his head. Walking over to his own cot, Fergus fumbled through some odds and ends until he found his eating utensils. Walking over to the entrance to make his leave, he stopped just short, thinking. Turning back to the kid, "Hey."

"Yeah," he asked, giving Fergus his attention, but not quite turning over.

"I have to take stock of the armaments when the wagon returns," Fergus held back his smile, noticing he had peaked the young boy's interest when the child perked up. "We'll fill our stomachs, and then you can help me." He turned halfway, "If you want, it'd be a shame to handle all those _guns_ by myself _."_ He couldn't hold his smile back any longer and had to turn away from the child. Mention a firearm or work on a firearm, and the boy had the focus of a precision laser rifle. It was his weakness. He stepped out, the seed planted.

Rolling over Nick stared at the closed flap a moment longer, a smile twitching at the edge of his lips. He had some people. They weren't many, but he wouldn't trade them for a Fat Man and a lifetime supply of mini-nukes. He just had to stick it out a little longer, then maybe he could stay with one of the other encampments, or maybe the northern tribe. They always needed more bodies.

His lips broke into an all-out smile, "Thanks," he whispered to himself, before he took to his feet and left the tent, grabbing his own eating utensils along the way. The Pipboy blipped. The screen coming to life faintly to catch his attention. "What the, I should've taken this off. . ."

He saw the file he had opened before Fergus had startled him. And the more he read, the more his eyes widened, "There's no frigging way. . ."

 **(The Next Morning)**

 **(June 6th, 2268)**

Close to the southern end of the Barge, Nick sat leaning back on his arms with his legs straight out in front. Before him was the Colorado River. Moments before he would ride on to the larger northern encampment at the Hancock Glade, Fergus had awoken him early just to tell him not to leave the Barge today.

Not. To leave. The Barge. Which, of course, meant no hunting, scavenging or exploring Bullhead. The stuff Nick would usually fill his day with. Maybe the old man was a little bent about him not showing up for his offer?

His mind drifted to last night, and what he'd seen on the Pipboy. He'd wanted to see if it was true. . . but, that was Fergus' way of telling him he's sorry, he guessed. And he'd ignored it to think over the info he'd learned.

So far though, he was just biding his time now. He was already bored, and there wasn't much he could think of to do and he wasn't keen on asking the tribewives for chores. He knew none of the hunting parties would take him.

Coming to a stand, he began meandering up the bank, watching the water as it flowed evenly down it's course. Looking further up the Colorado River, wide as it was, Nick casually watched the opposite bank, looking into the land of Nevada. He wasn't really looking for anything. His whole life he'd never seen anything across the river.

Fergus had told him this morning to stay within the limits of the Barge. Nick smiled, kicking a small stone into the calm river flow of the Colorado.

Like he'd do that. Unless Fergus came looking for him, he could always sneak back in like he'd never left. He thought about finding Chance, but that means he'd probably end up with Bren and the other two, and he honestly didn't want to deal with them, not after yesterday. He knew it was over and done with, but it still sucked to have credit stolen from you.

"Hey, Outcast!"

The call brought the boy to a halt mid-step. Sure enough, a group of six Khans his age were jogging up to him from the encampment, laughing and shoving each other along the way. Seeing the one who called out to him, his skin crawled in anger. While the guys he was with last night were a nuisance at best, this kid loved to start fights for no reason. With himself being the target, with his status and all.

The boy was roughly his height and size, with light brown shaggy hair and a roundish face. His nose had been bent from a past fight and his brown eyes were dull, which Nick attributed as a sign of his intelligence. His state of dress was standard with a brown tee, faded blue pants and sneakers and a Great Khan Vest without the top rocker, same as the other kids' vests.

"Michael, I ain't in the mood." Nick scoffed, turning his attention back to the riverside to continue his walk.

"Don't have time for your good pals?" Michael asked with devious smirk, now keeping pace with him, "We all know you'd have been gone the moment the sun rose if you had something better to be doing, Outcast."

"Yeah, Petty, we heard Fergus has you on house arrest," one of Michael's friends tossed in.

"Makes sense though, after how he botched yesterday, huh?" Another jabbed, sharing a chuckle with the group.

Nick came to a stop for a second time, and his shoulders tightened, "You like talking about things you know nothing about?"

"Not what the word around camp is, Outcast."

"Oh yeah, and how many of those pissants were there. Can ya' answer that?" Nick barked, turning to face the boy and the two squared off. He could feel his face flush with anger, ready and waiting for his moment.

Michael smiled as he crossed his arms over his chest, coming to stand off to the side of the two. As he glanced between them, his smile grew a little wider, "Well, well fellas. Looks like we may have a bout after all. Baines?"

Baines, a curly-headed boy with black hair, was the one Nick was squaring off with, "Yeah, I'm game, if this little bitch is."

Nick gritted his teeth. . . and he looked between everyone surrounding him, then Micheal who was awaiting his answer. They wanted to bait him, he knew that plain and simple. Did he really want to take the bait again? He could just walk away, he didn't need to do this. . .

"Ya' know what," Nick said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "I don't need this,' he sneered, so he turned and started walking away.

Baines and Michael shared a look, and once Michael nodded, Baines started jogging up to his target. "You ain't friggin' leaving that easy, Bastard," he said, grabbing Nick by the cloth of his jacket.

Nick spun around on his heel and clocked Baines in the mouth. As the boy hit the sand on his back holding his mouth, he unscrewed his eyes just in time to catch sight of boot tread before his lights went out.

 **(Meanwhile)**

"So what are you thinking," Chance asked, keeping his stride even with his best friend.

Bren glanced at him, then straightened his gaze, "Just some things on my mind."

Chance smiled, "Ya' know, usually when someone asks what's on your mind, the friendly thing to do is give some kind of hint," he said, pushing Bren softly to the side.

Sighing, Bren's head sank briefly before he answered, "Honestly, it's about Petty. . . I mean, we went looking for him because we wanted him in the know, ya know" he asked, eyebrow cocked as he checked to see Chance's reaction, but the teen remained neutral, "Anyway, I wasn't expecting for yesterday to go the way it did. I'm all for razzing the little shit, but...,"

"I hear you, bro," Chance replied, scratching at his nape, when he realized that Bren had stopped a few paces behind him. He saw Bren staring to the outskirts of the near the riverside. Chance followed his line of sight to a group of younger boys ganging up on a solitary child, which churned his stomach. "Is that. . ." Once he recognized who the lone child was, Bren was already marching off in their direction. "Ah shit."

Bren had quickly closed the distance when the group had managed to pin Nick, all of which liberally delivering kicks to any part of his unprotected huddled form. One of the boys turned and saw Bren advancing, already too close for him to do anything and Bren felt great satisfaction as the boy began to shrink in fear. Bren sucker-punched the boy out of his way, grabbing another by the collar of his shirt and practically throwing him aside.

"Shit, it's Bren!" It was then that the others noticed his presence, and before any more damage could be done they tried to scatter, but not before one more felt the anger of the Chieftain's son.

Bren breathed a little heavy as he watched the few left able to stand flee back into camp, then looked down at the pitiful form of Petty. Bending down, he hoisted the boy up, "Get off of me," he growled, shaking himself from Bren's hold.

"The hell happened, Petty?" Bren asked, expectantly.

The boy wiped some blood that leaked from a busted lip with his sleeve,"What do you think, they jumped me. That shithead Michael," he cursed between spitting blood. Then a body hit the ground in front of them.

It was Michael, forced to his knees in front of the pair, when the voice of a third spoke behind him, "Caught the little punk before he could get too far," Chance threatened, and with a cautious glance back, he could tell he was in for a world of hurt if he tried to flee again.

Bren dropped into a squat and locked eyes with Michael, but didn't say anything at first. He just laced his fingers together and kept staring back into the eyes of the culprit who assaulted his younger clansman. Once the boy began to fidget beneath his steady gaze, Bren spoke up and the boy flinched a little, "I never took you for a coward Michael, so how 'bout you explain yourself?"

Michael just dug his grave deeper, "Why the fuck do you care? He's a bastard anyways, so what if we-" Bren blinked when a boot collided with the side of Michael's head, putting him to sleep face down in the sand. Bren looked up to Nick, his face anything but amused.

Nick righted his stance, and when he noticed the stare he was getting from Bren, a thought hit him, "What? You were actually listening?" He scoffed, "You might want to be fed bullshit, but I was done hearing him," he quickly began rummaging through the three unconscious boys' pockets, pulling bottle caps and counting them out in his hands, "And quite frankly, I feel like I deserve repayment." The bottle caps totaled twenty-seven in all. It wasn't much, but it was more than what he had previously, which was zilch.

Pushing himself up from his squat, Bren huffed at the young boy's brashness, but wasn't going to say anything to stop him. These boys should be lucky all they're losing is bottle caps and some of their ego. "I need to talk to you."

"What if I don't feel like talking," Nick replied snidely.

"I need help with something," Bren continued, unfazed.

Rounding back around, "The fuck did I say?!" Bren just crossed his arms and suddenly the boy realized who he was talking too, and so he reigned himself in.

Seeing this, Bren pressed "You want off the Barge?"

"Fergus gave me strict orders-"

"Like you really were gonna listen?" Chance snorted. He was now on the receiving end of the boys glare. "Seriously, you won't get hung up for this."

"Father gave me permission to take who I want, and that means you."

"Yeah? And to do what?"

"Our tributaries. I'm running errands out to them; checking supplies, harvest quotas, listening to concerns and handling hold-outs. Standard shit, but mostly easy work. It all gets reported back to the Chief at the end of the day."

"Then handle it with someone else," Nick responded, turning away.

This time, Bren wasn't having it. He grabbed the back of the boy's neck, and Nick was quick to react.

He just wasn't _that_ quick. Bren lifted the boy off his feet and planted him in the sand and held him there by the throat. "Now listen to me, you whiny brat. We didn't mean for that shit yesterday, but if you want any sort of a better life, you need to start earning it." Nick struggled under his grip, and so Bren tightened his hold, "Right now, you live day-to-day on your own merit and your own hunts, and that may be good enough for the dregs of our clan, but I won't accept it out of you. You need to start turning that name you hate into something others respect, and that's going to start here, got it?" Bren released the boy and backed up quickly. Getting back to his feet as he cleared his throat, Nick rubbed at the flesh gingerly. His eyes met Bren's. "So what's it going to be?"

Nick took a moment, his eyes dropping contact as he thought it over. . . was this really all he wanted out of life? Even if he left, his name could follow him to the other camps, wouldn't it? Unless he went north, but was that what he wanted? To run?

It wasn't really a choice. Bren stood in front of him waiting patiently with his arms crossed again.

"Fine," he conceded, standing straight and straightening out his ruffled clothes. Chance perked up and Bren allowed a small smirk to appear. "I'll do it."

"That's what we wanted to hear," Chance said, sharing a glance with Bren as he stepped in front of him to face the young boy. He honestly didn't expect this to work. Not only had Bren asked the boy, but Nick agreed to tag along. Both surprised him. Regardless, he agreed with Bren. Today was the first step to the rest of this boy's life, and it was time to turn things around. And he had just the idea. First things first, however. "Meet us at the gate in a half-hour, these farms aren't _all_ spread out, but it's still a hike out past the Marina Line. We'll have the Horse-Master ready Alban."

Nick nodded, and left without another word, a lot on his mind now, no doubt.

"What's your plan here," Chance asked, when he was sure the boy was far enough away.

"My father's planning a raid. I overheard him talking it over briefly with the Northerner, but they didn't go into detail. I want to get Petty in on it. And the road-captains will overlook him if he keeps up this attitude."

"Hm" Chance sounded, understanding what he was getting at. "Then, I guess I'm gonna drop some rumors, too."

"Rumors?"

"Yeah, 'rumors' about what really happened yesterday. Every bit helps."

 **(The Glade, Three Hours Later)**

Naddok was sitting inside his tent; a rather spacious abode crafted of a fine collection of Bighorner leather. It was fitting for his position as Chief, he thought. The leather was great against the elements, like heavy wind and sand storms or the rare instances of rain, it also offered an excellent break from the blazing sun of the Mojave. Numerous trinkets, spoils and a few weapons were decorated around him, all of which he acquired through trade, exploration or conquest. More precisely, he was at his desk. An old-world bureau that was almost mint, if it weren't for a few watermarks stained into the wood. He'd personally hauled from the old Mayor's building outside of the village proper.

He had a guest, but honestly his mind was adrift and he was only half-listening. He was more concerned about what the man before him could be pulling his tribe into, and something else. . .

Across from him was the Northerner, London, that Papa Khan had sent for them, pacing as he probed and prodded him on the conditions and affairs of the tribe. "So, it's been what, five, six years since your last face to face with a runner?"

"Give or take," and the questions were bordering on tiresome.

"And since then, you've established several farms, outpost camps," he glanced down at the report Naddok had handed to him prior, "and even caravans pass through here to buy and sell goods. Impressive, I'll admit, but rather tame."

Naddok's fist tightened, but kept his mouth shut.

"These farmers produce for you Corn, Razor Grain, Xander Root, Carrots, Potato, and even Mutfruit, not including your own grows. They tend to Bighorner, Brahmin, hmm, and Radchickens. All excess you can't store or eat, you sell. Your hunting and scavenging parties supply most of your meat and trading needs." Not once had the man actually looked at him, and the few times he'd managed to catch his eyes prior to their first encounter, it was like the man was staring through him. Naddok felt despite the two of them being there, he might as well have been alone. It was weird, this void he felt.

A part of him was put off by it. To many, it would seem disrespectful, arrogant or snide. The kind of look a man in fortune has when he was looking on a beggar.

Another part of him knew that look, 'I'll be keeping an eye on you,' he thought, and to rid himself of the unease, he stood and spoke. "How about instead of the scrutiny, we get down to why you're really here."

London had something of a snide grin on his face. Though, Naddok would only 'play' for so long, and he was beginning to sense he was standing in the middle of a minefield. So, he got to relaying his message from Papa Khan, "The Khan is ready to get his men on the warpath. Between us and your men, he believes we can put up a real fight against the NCR, no longer just raids to probe their frontier," he stopped in front of Naddok's desk, "How much manpower do you think could ride? Your horses would be invaluable, the NCR would never expect these animals!"

Naddok wrung his hands at the desk, "Who's to say? Who's to say that any of their Rangers haven't known already? NCR has sent rangers east for years to scope out their new real estate."

"That's a big assumption, Chief," London remarked, snide smile back again. Naddok couldn't help but see it as fake. "Regardless, my question stands."

Teeth gnashed as he gave it a thought, "Depends. Things like need and notice are important."

"One week," he said smoothly, "and we'll need everyone you can spare. Expect it to be a long term trip, so supplies and munitions will be crucial."

"Long term" Naddok said, finally stepping from his desk and rounding it to confront the man. "Papa Khan knows I don't like playing games, even if it has been years. So, you tell me what he's really planning." Naddok leveled an even stare into the messenger's seemingly vacant eyes.

"He mentioned something like that. Fine," he then slackened up, more casual. "We want to get the other Vegas Tribes to help us. Papa Khan has managed to arrange a meeting with all their leadership and our numbers are a show of force. We want to try and leverage as much confidence as we can."

"So, I gather that 'long term' means after we've got their support." It was quite the move, he had to admit. The Boot Riders could be negotiated with, he was certain. But the Sawneys and the Slither Kin were another story. Though if it could be done. . . maybe they _could_ poke the bear and win.

"Correct. Now, how many can you spare?"

"A two-hundred riders, we've had a long time to build," Naddok conceded, nodding his head, " but that's all I can guarantee without checking with the other camps."

"Excellent." London bowed, ready to take his leave, "Papa Khan will be most pleased, and we'll expect you in Vegas in just over a week." London turned and walked from the ger, his two Northern guards following him out.

Naddok was about to take his seat back at the desk when his brother made his entrance, "Yes, Fergus?"

"I just saw the Northerners leaving," he said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "I take it you've come to a decision."

"Now's as good a time as any," Naddok sighed to himself, then started walking towards Fergus. "Come, time to muster the men."

"Right behind you."

"And, Fergus. . ."

"Yes, Chief."

"I want eyes on that messenger. Your best."

Naddok stepped from his tent out into the biggest of his three established camps, The Glade. It was just a large blank patch of dirt and soil that had been undeveloped once the bombs fell so many years ago. It was here that the first camp was set up by the Great Khans upon their arrival into Bullhead. It wasn't long after their tents were pitched that the Khans set out in establishing a stranglehold on the city. Raider gangs were the first to come to heel, and after they had razed a few of the bigger groups in their own camps and hideouts they came across as a precedent, the rest soon fell in line and joined the Khans. A few remained, small groups no larger than ten or so, but they were smart enough to avoid any Khan held areas and usually were only passing through. None would attack, even if they could; walls had been erected, a staple among every camp down to the outposts. Everyone lived and slept in security.

That safety and precedent helped their numbers swell, and that required food to sustain such a large group of ruffians. Food was one such resource that couldn't always be stolen or taken by force, not enough for over a hundred mouths. So, Naddok made a move, one outside their norm as Khans. He enlisted help.

Let it never be said that they weren't fair to non-members and helpful to outsiders here in Bullhead. Several farms had managed to scrape by a living here, and with their raider troubles gone, most were more than willing to give the Khans food in return for protection. A very symbiotic relationship. Naddok even sent idle prospects on rotation to provide extra hands to tend the crops and stand guard; the farms grew bigger, livestock and hunting gains were traded and soon enough, their food troubles were solved in a matter of five months. Even traders started making regular runs years ago, stopping by the camps with Khan escorts through Bullhead for their efforts.

Naddok had made real settlements, no, towns, out of these camps. It was that kind of leadership that earned him the respect of his tribe as their leader. Even if that meant he received distrust from members of the north. Some of his Northern kin thought they'd gone soft, forgotten their ways. And that man, London, was poking fun at it all. Scrutinizing decisions that made _his_ Khans stronger, not Papa Khan's. They'd soon see how 'soft' his war band was.

But that didn't stop the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind, and not a day went by that Naddok didn't worry, that all of this progress, it'd all be lost. The runner only made it feel that more real.  
In ten short minutes, he'd crossed from his Ger to the main gate, his horse at the ready and his entourage waiting. "We leave for Hancock," he called aloud. "Jonas, scour the camp for volunteers and assemble the road-captains for my return. I want a list of names ready by then."  
"On your word, Chief."  
The gates leading from the Glade opened up to the crossings of the Marina and Lakeside Lines, both long and wide streets that cut through the city. Hancock was the furthest camp to the north, but the easiest to get too, once they hopped onto the Hancock Line. That'd be their first stop. Without further wait, Naddok and his men took their leave to assemble, what he believed, to be the greatest army the NCR would ever face.

 **AN:**

And here it is, the revised 2nd chapter: Somethings remained the same while taking a different direction than the original, where I felt I was rushing things along. I don't want to do that, so our cast will be spending more time in Bullhead for the foreseeable future, so readers can get more of an insight to the tribe and their goings-on in Bullhead. I really like Bullhead as an origin, because it's a lore item that never really was fleshed out other than the few things that are mentioned in-game, and that gives me a lot of freedom. So, I'm excited for how it turns it in the end.

I hope you enjoy it, and please review! **(3/9/2020)**


End file.
